


The Autumn Has Your Ghost

by Miri Cleo (miri_cleo)



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/pseuds/Miri%20Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A version of Alucard's possible return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Autumn Has Your Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Hellsing, it's concepts and characters, belong to Hirano Kouta.

Integra had her back to the high windows of her office. She did not want to watch as the sun rose over the destruction. All was still, paralyzed with the enormity of everything that had been lost. Her duty to God and country was not yet done. She would see London rebuilt, reborn even if only to see it destroyed and resurrected again. It had all happened before.

She was looking at her hands, the white gloves still splattered with blood. Even though it covered her, Integra did not smell it anymore. It hung about the air, saturated everything until there was no other scent to breathe. And it did not matter who the blood belonged to, it all smelled the same now.

There were heavy footsteps in the hall, and when they stopped, Integra could hear her doorknob turning. Integra did not look up; the early dawn glinted off of the lenses of her glasses. She would never hear Walter’s footsteps in the hallway again, and that was the last she would think on it. Seras would be sleeping, but Integra could not guess as to whether that sleep would be peaceful or not. The footsteps were at once alien and familiar to her, as was the presence in the room.

It was strange the way the air shifted—strange in how natural, how mundane it was. The sunlight was beginning to spread across the tiles, and Integra allowed her eyes to follow it to his blood stained boots, to his pale face. She had never seen it in the sunlight; she had never seen it look so somber.

“You are surprised.” His voice did not carry, did not surround her.  
Integra shook her head. “No.”

He had presented himself in order to obey her final order, even though she knew he would no longer call her master. He was no longer a weapon, a tool.

“Will you have me, Integral Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing?” he asked, his voice imperious even though it was soft, even though it was tired.

Integra’s breath caught in her throat for a moment but only that. As a monster, he had served both her and her father faithfully. She knew what restraints she could place on him just as well as she knew what he was capable of. But as a man… The possibilities did not frighten Integra. She did not even allow herself to consider them.

As a man, he had forsaken his duty to God; he had forsaken God himself for the flesh. He had condemned himself to an eternity of damnation because he loved a woman. And though his purgatory had seemingly come to an end, Integra could not forgive that.

“I’m not what you want,” she said evenly. She was the embodiment of an idea he had held close to him for centuries, nothing more.

Integra pushed herself out of her chair, and he took a step closer. Their eyes met long before their bodies did. Integra had never seen his so calm, so very dark. Her steps were brisk. He held his arms open, not for her, Integra knew, but inviting her onward. She could hear her father’s words with each footstep even though her blood rushed in her ears.

Her blade sank into his chest when they met. The blood that spilled onto her gloved hands was warm, warmer than the sunlight. There was a slight smile on his face as he sank into her arms. Integra held his weight, lowering them both to the floor. He laughed, low and soft but wholly familiar to her.

Integra continued to stare down at him even after his eyes became dull—the thing a vampire longed for above all else.


End file.
